


i see nothing but the candle in the mirror

by lovdays



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, POV Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovdays/pseuds/lovdays
Summary: There are stories. Stories of little girls, hair flowing, staring into a mirror with mirrors on either side of themselves. These stories say to put a candle in front of the mirror and wait for midnight. Upon midnight, these little girls are given a chance to ask about the future.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	i see nothing but the candle in the mirror

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not wholly sure what this is but i was listening to letters (from natasha, pierre and the great comet of 1812) after reading some natasha comics and i just had to get this out. i hope u enjoy and feel free to follow me on twitter (iovdays) and tumblr (lovdays).

There are stories. Stories of little girls, hair flowing, staring into a mirror with mirrors on either side of themselves. These stories say to put a candle in front of the mirror and wait for midnight. Upon midnight, these little girls are given a chance to ask about the future. Many of these girls say they see their future, images of men and babies appearing in the mirror.

Natalia Romanova, however, was not one of these girls. She remembers being young, hair wild and curly, staring into a mirror. She remembers the candle flickering, as the cold Russian winter blew through the house. She remembers the minute hand ticking until the clock struck midnight. Natalia remembers staring excitedly, small round face breaking into a grin, as she asked for her future. The clock ticks on in the background, as her smile slowly fades.

A minute. Five minutes. After ten, she finally sighs and blows out the candle. Whispers to herself that it’s nothing more than an old wives’ tale.

As she turns, she fails to see a face, much like her own. It is older, thinner, and much sadder. It stares at the little girl as the candlelight completely disappears into a whiff of smoke. 

She is Natalia Romanova, for only a little longer. She is a little girl, for only a little longer. She is free from the Red Room, for only a little longer. 

…  
…

Natasha Romanoff awakens, echoes of memories from years that feel centuries away, even though they are merely from decades ago. Her mouth tastes of iron and she presses a pale hand to her bleeding lip, a habit she had picked up from the Red Room.

Better to bleed, she thinks, than to cry out. Shaking her head, Natasha walks to the small bathroom mirror in her apartment. 

The countertop is cluttered with lipstick, half empty toothpaste tubes, and some wigs. Pushing aside the blonde one, Natasha pushes herself onto the counter. Her eyes are lined by dark circles and the blood trickles down her chin. 

She grimaces at herself, grabs a tissue, and begins to dab at her lips. As she stares at herself in the mirror, Natasha feels the flicker of a memory in the back of her mind.

She blinks and the face staring back is not wholly her own. It is a little girl, round face and red curls, with a smile that looks as wild as her hair. It startles Natasha and she very nearly falls off the countertop. 

Breathing hard, Natasha turns back to the mirror. The girl is gone, replaced only by a candle. She blinks and the candle is gone. 

Her heart stops for a moment as she goes back years, to before SHIELD, to even before she was the Red Room’s favorite. A little girl in the beginnings of the Soviet Union. 

Natasha pulls the tissue away from her lip, feeling momentarily satisfied that the bleeding has stopped. She climbs off of the countertop and glances back at the mirror, which now only shows her face. 

A strange pang goes through her as she recalls the stories about how mirrors and candles could predict the future. She remembers how girls, a little older than she had been at the time, traded the stories like they were small pieces of candy, sweet and wholly innocent. 

As Natasha turns to crawl into bed, she closes her eyes and remembers.


End file.
